


Always the Star

by GVSpurlock



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Abbie is a workaholic, Andy plays WoW, Christmas Fluff, Gen, Not Shippy, Nutcracker Apron, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:18:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GVSpurlock/pseuds/GVSpurlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there are bad puns about geese, Abbie drinks eggnog out of a teacup, and Andy has bad taste in music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always the Star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [azwoll (inhalestardust)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=azwoll+%28inhalestardust%29).



> Title from "This Christmas Day" by Trans-Siberian Orchestra.
> 
> _In the darkest night_  
>  You always were the star  
> You always took us in  
> No matter who we are 
> 
> Written as a gift for [azwoll](http://azwoll.tumblr.com) for the [Sleepy Hollow Secret Santa](http://sleepyhollowss.tumblr.com) gift exchange.

“Don’t be unreasonable, Abbie,” Brooks wheedled, perching on her desk. “You’ve been putting in fourteen hour days. That’s just unhealthy!”

Abbie declined to look up from her stack of paperwork, but pursed lips indicated he’d captured some portion of her attention.

“Back me up, Sheriff! I think she’s actually become One with the Chair.”

Sheriff Corbin, returning from the break room with an enormous mug of coffee, warded off the attempt to draw him into the conversation with a shake of his head. 

“Traitor! Don’t think I don’t know where she gets it!”

The sheriff’s door closed with a decisive ‘click.’

“What I would give for a door,” Abbie moaned, tossing down her ballpoint and rubbing a hand over her eyes.

“Why do you need a door for? _You never leave_. We should just wall you in.”

“That’s creepy. Thanks, Brooks.”

“Anytime. And if you think you’re off the hook for Christmas the Second, you’ve got another thing coming,” Brooks warned.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first eighty times. Dinner, your place, day after, bring booze. I’m on it. Can I please finish up this paperwork so no one _walls me in_?”

“Is this the BDSM club dressed up as demons whipping each other in the streets or the used clothing store dude who said a Druid of the Flame set his joint on fire?”

“You play too much Warcraft.”

“You actually listen to me when I talk about WoW? Dude, I had no idea.”

Abbie shoved him off her desk. “Get _off_.”

Brooks saluted crisply and returned to his own workstation, where he too had a mountain of paperwork awaiting attention. Sleepy Hollow, as a town, was (clearly) insane and getting madder by the day. Brooks was an annoying asshole, but he wasn’t wrong. Their days and nights were spent investigating increasingly bizarre crimes and for all that the “lunar effect” had been debunked thirty some-odd years ago, full moons were the worst of all. For every call to deal with shoplifting or domestic disturbance, there were two for corpse-snatching or severed fingers with no apparent victim. 

The ringleader of the demonically costumed folks on Main claimed it was traditional practice and protected religious expression. Abbie gave him The Look (guaranteed to silence idiots at thirty feet) and he mumbled something about taking it inside next year. Satisfied, she sent them off with a stern warning and confiscated an open bottle of Jack. Brooks and the rest of the sheriff’s office may have attributed kinky motivations to the drunken revelers, but Abbie thought (or, rather, hoped) they were just burning off steam. The holidays were stressful for everyone. 

She always volunteered for the Christmas shift. The holidays were a precious time for families, and since hers was out of the picture, it seemed only right that she enable the family men and women of the force to spend that time at home. Corbin, Brooks, and Morales would join her, burning the midnight oil and chewing the break room coffee on one of the quieter nights of the year. Last year, Morales brought a game called Cards Against Humanity that had them all weeping on the floor with laughter. Corbin shocked the hell out of everyone by winning the game by a landslide, wicked sense of humor combining with a competitive streak to give him the edge. 

This year, Brooks decided they would spend the day after Christmas (which they were forced to take off by those they spelled for The Day Of) having a traditional dinner and watching a sappy holiday classic on Netflix. Abbie was in charge of rounding up the alcohol, possibly starting with the mostly-full bottle of Jack. Eggnog was a Christmas thing, wasn’t it? She’d have to run by the grocery and pick up nutmeg and vanilla. She didn’t have any at her place, so it stood to reason that Brooks the Bachelor wouldn’t either. 

Christmas arrived three days later. They were playing poker in Corbin’s office that evening when the call came in.

“This is Mills. What’s up, Bonnie?”

Brooks edged toward her seat, intention to cheat horribly writ across his face. She pointed two fingers at her own eyes and then at him and he grinned unrepentantly, peeking at her cards. 

“Geese, Lieutenant.”

“I’m sorry, can you say that again?”

“Out at the Stables. Some of the Ogleby extended family is trying to get home and there’s geese blocking the road.” The radio crackled

“Isn’t it a little late in the season for birds?”

Corbin started pulling on his jacket. 

Morales and Brooks were cackling and quacking as they left. “Bring us back a roast fowl, Mills!” Morales shouted in a faux British accent.

She flipped them the bird, which made them laugh even harder.

The geese were not so easily dispatched as Abbie might have hoped. The stupid creatures were highly aggressive and certainly not shy about ripping out the knee of Corbin’s pants with vicious beaks. Jimmy Ogleby brought out his border collie, Jax, and the little suckers…

“Got the flock out of there!” howled Brooks, his fourth pun since their return.

“I’m going to stuff snow down the back of your shirt,” Abbie warned him.

“Do it,” he dared her.

“Children,” came Corbin’s long-suffering sigh. “Knock it off. Read ‘em and _weep_.” He lay down a ten-high straight and everyone tossed their cards in while he collected the pot. (Again.)

It was still dark at seven when the morning shift arrived. 

“Three o’clock, don’t be late!” yelled Brooks.

Morales started singing “The Chipmunk Song.”

“Oh my god, I’m leaving now. Get some sleep, Morales, you’re nuts.” Abbie pulled the car door shut. 

One five minute shower, seven hour nap, and fresh set of clothes later, she was sitting in Brooks’s impeccably clean apartment holding a dainty Christmas teacup filled with overtly-alcoholic eggnog. (She considered it a job well done.)

If the dark circles under his eyes were anything to go by, Brooks hadn’t spent the intervening hours sleeping, but scrubbing. Abbie thought it was sort of cute he wanted to impress them, considering they’d all seen (and threatened to call the CDC on) his cruiser. She appreciated the effort, though, and enjoyed the decorations. The small pine tree’s scent mingled with the roasting turkey and the new cinnamon candles dotting the living room. 

Corbin sat ungently on the sofa, sloshing his drink and chuckling, stretching out one long arm to rest behind her. She leaned into him, watching Morales flip through Brooks’s CDs, occasionally pulling one out to tease him about. 

Brooks finally came out wearing a nutcracker apron, yelling for Morales to leave his stuff alone.

“Dude, _Nickelback_. We can’t be friends anymore.”

“Put that down and put on Spotify like I told you to!” 

“ _Nickelback_.” 

“I will not let you have any cookies, I swear to God.”

Morales queued up the requested playlist and Brooks stomped back to the kitchen. Abbie and Corbin’s eyes met and they burst out laughing.


End file.
